Chapter of Swan
by Aindel S. Druida
Summary: Following the series, Fakir and Ahiru deal with life after the story. However, things begin to change, leaving them to wonder what the boundaries of possibility are.
1. Morning Mood

**Disclaimer: So totally not mine. Except for the parts that are.**

**A/N**: This idea came to me pretty much right after finishing Princess Tutu (at an ungodly hour of the morning with my roommate, I might add). I took me about a week to churn out this chapter (a week and a day, to be exact), and that was with a lot of work in the way, as well as other animes as a distraction. The title I had also come up with almost immediately, but was stupid enough to not write down, so it took me hours of agonizing over it (while I was supposed to be listening to a script read-through for our new production). I even involved my roommate after all I could come up with were horrific things that rivaled the world's worst country songs, and _she_ couldn't come up with anything except a few words that could be plugged into the title somewhere. And then it hit me again (for which I am rather thankful). And so, without further ado, Chapter of Swan!

**A/N2**: Yes, I realize that Peer Gynt is a play, and not a ballet like the rest of the music in the series, but I could care less. I like the music, and it has the expressions that I want to get across, so there. For anyone who cares, the composer is Edvard Grieg.

**A/N3:** Oh, and I used Duck's Japanese name, for those of you who were good little law-abiding persons and only saw the licensed version. This is because it's already confusing enough with the difference between ducks and Ducks (see note at bottom). We didn't need to add Duck to that confusion as well.

_**Morning Mood**_

_Once upon a time, there was a town that had been controlled by a story. For many years the story had remained unfinished, until a humble duck took on the role of Princess Tutu, a role that no one was supposed to fill. Through her powers of hope, courage, and love, she returned to the prince the pieces of his shattered heart. Together, with the help of the dark princess and a useless knight who could only write stories, they vanquished the Demon King and the prince was free to return to his home with his princess._

_Princess Tutu, however, was left behind. In a selfless act she gave the prince, whom she loved, the pendant that gave her power. By restoring this jewel, the final piece of the prince's heart, she was forced back into her duck form. She could only watch with unshed tears in her eyes as the prince and princess rode away in the swan carriage. The knight, who had come to care deeply for the little duck, vowed always to stay by her side, but something told him that it would not be enough._

_The town, meanwhile, had become rather dull since the prince had left. When the story had ended, and the storyteller's power over the town had been broken, the magic had left the town as well. The people had lived so long with the magic, since the later days of the storyteller himself, that they seemed lifeless, mocking versions of their former selves. Seeing the monotonous, mundane life the townspeople now led, the knight decided to act. He took the paper and quill, which he had often used since the days of the Demon King, and began to write. He described the town in great detail, and how happy the townsfolk had been, living side-by-side with Animals. He wrote of the excitement the magic had given them, and how it had fed their souls and imaginations. Then, he began to describe how much better life would be if the magic returned, if people could converse and work with Animals, if people had the courage to once again believe that they could do anything…_

Fakir straightened his shirt as he looked out his window at the morning sun. The town bell had rung a few hours earlier, waking him. He looked over to the small desk where he had fallen asleep. Papers were scattered across the surface, only a few of them blank. The page he had been working on when he'd succumbed to his tiredness was still incomplete, leaving his description of what the town could be unfinished.

"I'll return to that later," he decided as he moved to the small basket beside his bed. Gently, he nudged its small, fluffy, yellow occupant before picking her up and cradling her in his left arm. "Time to wake up, Ahiru."

The little duck slowly opened her eyes and gave what could only be described as a fowl version of a yawn. Looking at Fakir, she chortled through her beak and quacked happily, waving her wings wildly at his face. Though they had lost most of the thought connection they'd had at the story's end, a word or two would sometimes pass between them still, and Fakir caught the words "ink" and "cheek" through the quacking. He walked over to the mirror, Ahiru still in his arm, and began to rub vigorously at his left cheek, which was smeared with ink from having fallen asleep on his pages. He swore softly under his breath when it would not all come off, and turned to walk down the stairs.

Charon turned his head and smiled at the boy he had long ago come to look upon as his own son and the duck Fakir held close to him. Fakir smiled back before reaching his hand into a small pot of water sitting on a stool and splashing the cool liquid on his cheek, rubbing again with the edge of his sleeve.

"Fall asleep at the desk again?" Charon asked knowingly, turning back to his task. A small pile of tools sat to his right, waiting to be tended to.

"Yeah," replied Fakir, presenting his cheek to Ahiru for inspection. He took her positive quack to mean that he was now clean of the ink. "We're going out to the lake again today. We'll be back by evening."

Charon nodded his assent, not looking up from the metal he was scraping across the whetting stone. Fakir grabbed the small part-loaf of bread that had been on the table, setting Ahiru down in its place for a moment as he wrapped the loaf in a clean cloth. Hooking his thumb and finger on the knot, he carefully picked up Ahiru once more and walked out the door.

The street, they noticed, was empty, though they could hear the townspeople bustling about ahead. As they turned the corner, they were forced to stop, blocked by a crowd that had gathered to watch a wandering troupe of street performers. Two women dressed in bright orange costumes adorned with coins and bells were doing acrobatic tricks in front of a caravan wagon. On top of the wagon stood a fire-breather, a large brown bear with an orange vest and yellow cap.

Ahiru quacked loudly when she saw the bear, her eyes wide. She turned her head to look at Fakir for confirmation that she was not hallucinating, and saw shock scrawled across his face. One glance around the crowd told him what he needed to know; there were not only humans surrounding the performers. Stranger still was that the townsfolk seemed unperturbed by the presence of Animals amongst them, as though they had never spent any time without them.

"Come on," Fakir said lowly to Ahiru, shifting her slightly and slowly in his arms, his eyes still darting left and right. "Let's go." He walked off, picking his way through the ever-growing crowd, in the direction of the lake. He needed to think.

**A/N**: I realize this was rather short, but it's introductory, so bear with me. For anyone confused by the mention of Animals, it's a concept used in many fantasy books (most particularly in Gregory Maguire's Wicked, which I recommend to anyone and everyone. Awesome book) where there are non-human creatures both who act like humans and don't. Those which don't, who possess all and only the characteristics of that particular animal as in the real world, are 'animals.' Those that act as humans, with speech and (to an extent) mannerisms are 'Animals,' sentient beings that could be philosophically classified as 'persons.'

Hopefully you enjoyed this first installment. If you did, I hope to get the next chapter soon. If you didn't, thanks for giving me a chance anyway, and I hope you find what you're looking for in a story. Either way, leave me a review, especially if you have any particular comments or questions about this. Don't be shy!

Aindel S. Druida


	2. Galop

_**Galop**_

Though Ahiru looked like she was gliding gracefully across the lake, she was kicking her webbed feet furiously underneath the surface. It helped her to think if she swam, and she was thinking hard now. A glance toward the dark-haired young man sitting on the grassy bank, his head resting on one hand while the other fiddled with the bright green blades, told her that he was doing the same.

_It just doesn't make sense_, she thought. _All the magic left when the story finished. That's why I'm a duck again, and there were no Animals around. What's changed? I'm sure Drosselmeyer isn't toying with us again…_

She made her way back to shore and waddled awkwardly up to Fakir. Gently, she nipped at the finger toying with the grass and flapped her wings rapidly. He looked over, surprised because he'd been so deep in thought he hadn't noticed her approach, and half-smiled as he scooped her up and set her in his lap. The fingers that had been running through the grass now ruffled the fluffy yellow feathers on Ahiru's neck and back as he returned to staring absently somewhere out on the lake.

"It's not him," Fakir said finally. "I would know if it was, I think. But it still doesn't make sense with what we saw. It was part of the story last time, so people didn't notice when the Animals disappeared, but shouldn't they have noticed this?"

_But another story…_ Ahiru moved suddenly, losing her balance on Fakir's leg and falling onto the turf. Getting up, she flapped and quacked with excitement as an idea formed in her mind. _Perhaps it was your story, Fakir! The one you were writing last night. You didn't finish it, so the magic continued it for you!_

Fakir looked at her, confused. She was thinking so rapidly, and he wasn't able to understand any of it. "Ahiru, I don't know what you're trying to tell me. Is there any way you could make it a bit clearer?"

She rolled her eyes in response, slowing her thoughts. _Home home home home home home home home home_, she said in her mind as loudly and clearly as she could. Evidently it worked, because Fakir muttered half-heartedly under his breath before getting up to join the little duck who was waddling as fast as she was able in the direction of Charon's house.

They arrived not much later, having only stopped once in order to witness the familiar and much-missed sight of Mr. Cat attempting to politely get rid of Miss Goat, though he could now use the excuse that he was married. Charon glanced up as they walked through, but if he found their early return from their excursion odd, he said nothing. Ahiru waited impatiently at the foot of the stairs for Fakir to pick her up and carry her to his room, which she supposed could now be considered theirs since her basket was in there as well. That thought was fleeting, though, as was soon replaced with much quacking as she launched herself at the desk and stamped emphatically on the ink-stained pages.

"My story?" he questioned, puzzled. "You think this was my doing?" Ahiru quacked in the affirmative. "No… It can't be… This wasn't meant to do that. It's unfinished. I don't want to control this place. I wanted to change things, yes, but not this much, all at once. I don't want to be like him!"

Ahiru had never been very good at flying, but she used what little skill she had now to get from the desk to Fakir's bed, where he had collapsed with his grim thoughts. She moved up to his pillow and rubbed her beak comfortingly against his cheek. _Not him, not him_, she thought, focusing on Fakir. _People are happy. This is good._

"If I continue, I might become like him. It's not right to control people's lives, especially when they don't even know it's happening!"

_Then write that._ It was aggravating to have to think so slowly and concentrate so much on her thoughts, but she needed him to understand. _Write about choice, give them the chance to decide._

"How can they decide on what they don't know is a choice?"

_They know subconsciously what makes them happy. Trust them, and trust your power. It'll be okay._

Slowly Fakir nodded, understanding her. He lay on the bed for a little while longer with Ahiru curled up against his cheek before reluctantly moving to the chair at his writing desk. Staring at the blank pages, he turned back to Ahiru. "Why can't you speak, if what I wrote affected everyone else?"

_I was only ever a duck_, came the sleepy reply from the bed as she drifted off for a nap. _Never a Duck…_

Again he nodded, dipping his pen in the ink and pressing it to his blot sheet before setting it to his story. He wrote furiously once he began, barely registering mealtimes or nightfall. He only ate because Ahiru would peck at him incessantly and attempt to sit on his pages if he didn't take a break. Occasionally she would flap up to see his progress, but couldn't make much out of the inked pages. _For the descendant of a writer with magic powers, his penmanship sort of stinks._

When he decided he had done all he could, well past midnight, he doused the light and crawled onto his bed, careful not to wake Ahiru, who had curled up once again on his pillow. Sleep took him swiftly, despite his anxiety about what sort of ending his story would bring about.

**A/N:** Composer this time round is Dmitri Shostakovich. It took me forever to find music that suited this chapter. I think this captures the flurry of thoughts going through their minds as they try to figure things out.

Yeah, this chapter's short, too. I think this is just going to end up a really small fic, with the next chapter being the last. I had originally planned on something much longer, with, you know, a _plot_, but I don't write things down when I mean to, and you end up with this. Silly me. Not that it's particularly bad or anything. It's just not what I wanted out of this. Maybe I'll revamp it when I'm done. Turn it into a one-shot or something. Apologies for the slow update as well. Schoolwork is evil, muses are worse, and theatre OWNS MY SOUL.

Thanks to my lovely reviews! You guys seriously rock. Keep 'em coming, and don't hesitate to point out my typos. I catch most of them, but looking at that first chapter, we all know they still come through.

Aindel S. Druida


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